


First time: with feelings

by JLKnox



Category: In The Dark (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, Actual nice guy, F/M, HEA, Internal Monologue, Oral Sex, POV Experimental, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLKnox/pseuds/JLKnox
Summary: In an AU where Dean is NOT a murderer (accidental or otherwise), his trip to Wisconsin with Murphy goes in a completely different direction.===Her hands shake as she steps out into the bedroom, robe partially covering the black outfit she had put on especially for this occasion. Dressing for sex? This really is a lesbian way to fuck. She’s usually in whatever mismatched underwear she wore with a flannel and tee overtop. She freezes when she hears him say, “Hey” and her reply is flat, but still throaty. God, he probably thinks it’s sexy and really she’s about to lose her mind – in an anxiety way.She seems reluctant when she comes out of the bathroom. Maybe she’s changed her mind. But they’re here, aren’t they? And they’ve spent most of their time together since her birthday. It was so easy, almost too easy, to go from working on this case together to just hanging out as a family. And now they’re together. Alone. His lunch feels like it’s at the top of his esophagus but he manages to squeak out a plea from his seat on the bed – “C’mere?”
Relationships: Murphy Mason / Dean Riley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	First time: with feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, if you've subscribed to me but don't know this fandom, all you really need to know is the main female is blind and very emotionally guarded.  
> Everything else should be explained in the fic.  
> And it's on Netflix, the first season is good - has queers and fats getting laid and being desirable. Recommend.

“I don’t know all the words to this song, but I don’t care..”

“Time, Sharona!”

“Cause I am in the car…”

“you don’t even know it! Sharona!”

They were laughing so hard, and Murphy had never felt like this, definitely not ever with Max; this is so different from their road trip, it isn’t funny. Dean was stifling laughs between messing up the words, and it didn’t even matter that this song was his generation and not hers because who knows… or doesn’t know… ‘My Sharona’? Fuck, not even the band knows all the words to that song – half of them were probably made up on the spot and faked at every live show ever after.

When she told him she trusted him to order her lunch, it made her stop and check her head. She didn’t trust Max to even put a fork in her hand, let alone bring her something from a buffet – but without even knowing what type of restaurant they were at, she was completely and totally fine letting him pick something out. And he did – burgers, fries, and vanilla milkshakes. She snorts a little at that – of course, Dean’s vanilla; ‘basic’ doesn’t do it justice. A smile grows on her face as the rich creaminess coats her throat, and then she follows it with a hot, salty fry.

They eat quietly for a bit, both relishing the greasy food and the company. She hears him nab a fry then slurp some shake, and they have a rousing debate about whether fry-then-shake or shake-then-fry is the perfect way to combine salty and sweet. Obviously, he’s wrong, because if you wash a fry down with shake then it all just turns to mush. Fry second lets that hot, crisp, oily goodness linger on the tongue. They agree to disagree, and he takes her salt-coated fingers in his and pretends to eat them like fries. She completely embarrasses herself by squealing.

“Man, I’m having a great time already,” he gushes, and she turns her face away, feeling the heat hit her cheeks. He notices and stays quiet for probably a little too long, the silence stretching out between them too far. He still has his hand around hers…maybe he’s finished his burger already? Otherwise, what’s keeping them on the road? “You know,” he continues, more quietly, “I really did find you annoying.”

“Pfft!” she drops his hand and turns away exaggeratedly, “Dude, whatever!”

“I did! You were showing me up all over the place…finding things I missed…it was completely irritating!”

She pulls at the locked door handle, saying, “Okay, I’ll just get out here, then, that’s fine.” And they both laugh. He reaches for her hand again and fully entwines their fingers.

“But I have a confession…” his soft tone gets even lower.

“You drive me hours out of the city and THEN confess something to me? You do know I was going to have sex with you tonight, right? You want to risk that?”

He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head, not that she can see or even hear it, then says out loud, “No! I have to confess that I sat outside the bathroom door when you came over to … to… _help_ … Chloe.”

“Oh my god, I’m so glad she has me. You can’t even say it.”

“I did! I did say it that day. … … Which is why she had me call you.”

“Because you are hopeless.”

“Because I am a hopeless, dorky dad who cannot do anything about that particular problem in any useful way, correct.”

“I told you, you just gotta treat her like a normal kid.”

“There is no father, anywhere, with any daughter, sighted or blind, who would be able to do what you did for her.” His hand squeezes hers in a way that makes her breath and her heart stop momentarily. “I heard you in there… being an idiot… _insulting_ her fer Crissakes… and,” he brings their hands up under his chin, “I knew I was gone.”

It didn’t even matter that he had brought his volume back up… because she was slurping her milkshake so hard that no one could have heard over the echo sounding out of her cup.

“Murphy… c’mon.” Never had he been so glad that someone couldn’t see how absolutely pink his cheeks were.

“This vanilla shake is just soooooo delicious! I can’t help it.”

“I know you heard me.”

“No you don’t.”

“Whatever, loser.”

“Losers hang around outside their daughter’s bathrooms.”

“See?”

“What?” She points out the window. “Is that a cow? Tell me!”

He exhales, laughing silently, shaking his head, and lets her hand go to finish eating his burger.

“No, seriously, I want to know when there’s cows.”

===

She feels the temperature drop as the sun goes down, and finally, the car slows and crunches over gravel.

“Oh, it’s even nicer than the pictures,” he says without thinking, taking it all in. He can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Oh, that’s cool.” He snorts and nods his head while shaking it. “It’s really quiet.”

“I know,” he says, smiling, “it’s perfect.” And then he describes it to her, telling her how the entire façade is just windows, with the lights diffusing through the glass to make it glow. “It’s like modern, but quaint at the same time. It’s really… it’s just breathtaking.” He finishes helplessly and she takes his elbow after he gets their bags from the trunk. As they walk in, he keeps stammering a little and says something about the second floor but having no need for it and she finally cuts him off.

“I’ll just have to take your word for it,” she says, “but I’m really glad you like it.’ Once the door is unlocked he returns to her side, effortlessly guiding her through. He lets her know where all the major furniture is and guides her to the important spots: fridge, bathroom, bedroom. She imagines him blushing when she leans over and touches the bed.

“Where do you want to be?” he asks, and she shucks her coat, handing it to him before heading to the bathroom.

“Just going to … yeah.” She shuts the door behind her, and he rids himself of his own coat.

“Holler if you need anything,” he says, and then she hears his footsteps retreat. It’s so goddamn refreshing – not having to tell him to let her do it, not having to train him to do the basic things she needs and then give her space. She lets her bladder go without worrying that he’s hovering to make sure she’s okay.

With just her cane and the memory of his tour, she makes her way back to the couch but has no idea where he is. She stays unusually quiet, thinking about the night ahead. This is such a big production for something that is usually no big deal. Damn Jess and her lesbian ideals about sex being meaningful.

Lowering herself on to the couch silently, she feels the upholstery – this place is really upscale. It makes her kind of wish she’d worn something nicer than this old hoodie… but hours on the road demand comfort. And she _did_ pack nice things for tonight. The champagne cork startles the fuck outta her, but she guesses he didn’t realize she was already in the living room. When he sees her, he does perfectly at handing her a glass and pouring her some to sip.

It’s unsettling.

The only reason he’s good at this is because he has a daughter who’s blind. Does that mean she’s fine with him treating her like her daughter, cuz, eww. God, she doesn’t even know how old he is – 35? 40? Older? Is she closer to Chloe’s age than his? He said he had 20 years on the force… that _has_ to make him at least 40, right? 40 minus 27 minus 10… it’s close but she just squeezes out on his side … as long as he’s not, like, 45.

Fuck. Fuckfuck.

Max has abs but is a criminal and stupid and tries but fails… but at least he’s her age. Dean is kind, and dependable, and an endearing dork who is old and …fuck. She sips some champagne but it’s not enough. He just said something and she was totally in her head. She mumbles something reply-like and takes a breath. Only one thing for this.

“I think I’m gonna go have a smoke.”

“Uh… I’ll join ya.”

What now? “You’ll join me?” A breath. Or two. “Dean Riley… smokes?” the hell he does. She’d bet her left tit…he chuckles.

“I have these uh… little cigar things. My dad useta smoke em. I dunno. They help me relax.”

Ohhh…kayyy…what the hell does he need to relax for? He has a hot young thing in a cabin in Wisconsin and he’s getting her drunk on champagne.

“Are you stressed out right now?”

Is she kidding? How could he possibly not be stressed? He has a hot young thing in a cabin in Wisconsin. Aside from the champagne, she’s going to be confronted with the reality of him (hopefully!) tonight and there’s no way to hide from that.

“A little... Yooooooou….make me nervous.”

“You make me nervous, too,” she can at least be honest. She keeps going over the numbers in her head. She knows she has a lot of issues, but daddy issues were never anything she considered.

She sips and shrugs and when their glasses are drained, he stands and offers his hand by placing it under hers. She shakes it off, places her palms on her knees and stands up herself. He tries not to take it personally. She canes her way to the end of the couch and asks, “Right?”

He comes up behind her, places his hand on her left elbow and presses slightly, breathing the word, “Correct,” into her ear. She taps over to the wall and puts her hand out for the door. He hangs back and lets her find her way through.

He grabbed her coat while she was getting to the door and hands it to her once they get to a brick ledge by the sidewalk. Neither of them bother to zip up before lighting up and as he takes his first drag he feels like he’s going to vomit. There’s no way they’re going to sleep together tonight. Absolutely no way. They’ve ‘slept together’, sure, but it’s entirely consisted of her drifting off against his squishy midsection.

Max has abs.

He’s a pillow.

She’s so gorgeous.

She can – and does – get anyone.

He takes another drag and looks over at her. She’s frozen – looks like with fear. Of course. She’s realized that she’s here and has made him think they’ll have sex and is just now realizing that she’ll have to break it to him that she can’t. Or won’t. Or worse, they’ll start and when she feels him… all of him… she’ll change her mind. And ‘letting him down easy’ isn’t in Murphy’s vocabulary. God, no.

He shoves it all down and just says, “Warm enough?” her nod is miniscule and she replies that she’s good. But her nostrils are flaring and she’s as still as a rabbit. He looks at her, then up at the stars, which are actually visible out here. It’s amazing. He wishes she could see it but knows better than to say so, and just appreciates them silently for the both of them.

“Actually, no, I’m not good.” She hears the fabric as he makes a sudden move, probably to look at her. She holds her hand out, making a grabbing motion. “Can I… can I have that?”

He looks down at his cigarillo and shrugs, then realizes she won’t know the gesture. “Uhm, I’m kinda using it, but yeah, ok I guess…”

She snorts and he helps her take it from him. She brings the glowing end almost too close to her nose. He stops himself from stopping her – she’s not his kid.

“What is this?” she inhales deeply. “It’s so close, but not quite.”

“Yeah, it’s dumb, I know, but like I said, I picked it up from my dad.”

“No, dude, I’m not making fun of you. It’s important. What the fuck is this. What brand?”

“Oh, it’s this brand with actual vanilla beans in the tobacco. My dad smoked them because it reminded him of his dad smoking a pipe. I just use the same kind.”

“Ok, but Tyson smelled like this but more disgusting. Not vanilla. Just… nasty.”

“Wait, really? Because I get these from one particular shop in town. I know the brand makes regular tobacco, but I had to try a few places before I found these.” He runs his hand through his hair and reaches into his back pocket for his phone. “Shit, Murphy, that’s great!”

Her face breaks out into a huge grin. “Really? Can you actually use that?”

“I mean, I don’t know, but maybe? It’s more than we had!” His hand came up empty – the phone’s in the house somewhere, probably charging. Not that they had any bars here, anyway.

“Still the most annoying detective ever?” She’s standing and inching over to him. He retrieves it from her, takes a drag, switches the burning stick to his other hand, blows out over her shoulder and takes her elbow in his free hand.

“One hundred percent… still… the most annoying detective ever.”

Her smile takes over her face as she brings her nose closer to him. “Annoying because I got it and you didn’t…”

“Sure. If that’s what you need to think, then sure.” He leans down to kiss her but they are both smiling so much it doesn’t work very well.

She pulls away to take an important drag off her cigarette and feels the heat close to her fingertips. “There’s snow on the ground, right?” He answers that there is and she flicks her butt outward, turning back toward the house. He walks over and stamps it out on the bare ground where it landed, then picks it up, puts his own out against his heel and cups both butts in his hand as he follows her in.

Without a word, she goes into the en suite and he hears the shower start. He doesn’t like smelling this smoky, but a change is as good as a wash, right? He puts on clean boxers and a fresh tee, turns on some music. Sinatra – between that and the cigarillos, he really is becoming his father – and then looks around the room. As he’s turning down the bed, he’s glad she can’t see the horrible hotel-quality art here, and doesn’t really know what else to do so he sits on the bed and tries not to freak out.

He considers texting Jules about the tobacco brand…but it’s late. She’s not going to be able to do anything with that fact right now. And he really doesn’t want to think about a dead kid while the woman he’s going to have sex with is getting ready. Holy shit. His nervous swallow barely goes down.

As she puts her hair into a sloppy bun – and no one can do sloppy hair like a blind girl – she steps into the shower to wash the smoke off. She tries not to think of Max and his stupid self that made her think he might be dead, then risked it to come back. Did she go to Dean too fast? Maybe this is fast. She tries not to think of the age difference and instead turns her thoughts toward singing in the car, the stupid color-describer, and the fact that he remembered her birthday at all. Even so, as she feels the fabric of the silky teddy she packed, her stomach flips in a way it truly hasn’t ever before.

Sex is the great equalizer; like Tyson said, everyone closes their eyes to fuck. She sleeps with everyone. Hell, she slept with Max for their third date and that was the longest she’d ever gone after meeting someone. She’s known Dean a lot longer than that. Does that make it weirder? Really, they’d only admitted they liked each other last week. But even after Max told her he loved her, she was never nervous like this. Never worried that it might…actually… mean something.

Her hands shake as she steps out into the bedroom, robe partially covering the black outfit she had put on especially for this occasion. Dressing for sex? This really is a lesbian way to fuck. She’s usually in whatever mismatched underwear she wore with a flannel and tee overtop. She freezes when she hears him say, “Hey” and her reply is flat, but still throaty. God, he probably thinks it’s sexy and really she’s about to lose her mind – in an anxiety way.

She seems reluctant when she comes out of the bathroom. Maybe she’s changed her mind. But they’re here, aren’t they? And they’ve spent most of their time together since her birthday. It was so easy, almost too easy, to go from working on this case together to just hanging out as a family. And now they’re together. Alone. His lunch feels like it’s at the top of his esophagus but he manages to squeak out a plea from his seat on the bed – “C’mere?”

He watches her walk over, trail her hand on the corner of the bed, and sit down just barely on the edge. She said he made her nervous, is it possible she’s reconsidering? He hasn’t had a lot of practice since his wife died … really just Chelsea, and that was just fun. That was nothing compared to… having Murphy…here on a bed…with him. She just levered her way in like the jaws of life, and before he knew it, she’d opened up his sternum by force. Now she’s in his heart and having her in his bed is giving him gooseflesh.

He knows she’s a _lot_ more experienced than he is. And she has had much hotter partners. He’ll just have to make up for her quantity with quality. She has to know how gone for her he is. And how mind-blowing it is to him that she’s here. He moves over to her side on his hands and knees, trusting she’ll hear and feel him approaching. Brushing her hair away from her neck with his fingers, he wants to spend hours just feeling it, staring at it. But that would be weird, right? Right?

The flutter in her chest is aggressive, mocking her and making her uncertain. Why didn’t he wait longer after Max disappeared? Duh, because she was the one who just showed up at his house unannounced on her birthday. Why did the gentleness of his voice make her feel uneasy and comfortable at the same time, even when he was insulting her? Why did she just want to wake up with her head on his chest every morning when that only ever happened once?

Slowly peeling back her robe, his nose traces along her neck and she hears him breathing her in long before his lips even make contact. He inhales deeply, feeling lightheaded, keeping one hand in her hair on her other shoulder, buried in its softness. She knows her posture is stiff and unwelcoming, but he wasn’t telling her what he was doing and all she can do is react, making her feel at a disadvantage until she remembers – this is Dean, and she came here to be with him. In a totally gay way that would be special. And her freakout is making it harder for both of them.

Oh God, he actually cares about her.

Before they fuck the first time.

Like, already.

What even is that?

He plants little kisses down her shoulder and that helps, but it isn’t until he gets back near her jaw that her body tells her just exactly who’s in charge. Her breath comes out in a long sigh and she leans in toward him in a way that lets him know he’d hit the jackpot. Pushing his tongue out along her neckline, she finally moans and reaches for him and he just about loses it right then. He was making a smart, beautiful woman want more from him. He couldn’t help it, he licked along his teeth, sucked in slightly and bit gently.

The groan that escapes her sends shocks all the way through him and she leans back, holding his face and running one hand through his hair. “There,” she whispers, “right there.” His hands are on her hips now, and she places her palms over them, dragging them up her sides to her breasts, still on top of her teddy. She didn’t need ‘heightened senses’ to hear his breath pant raggedly as his hands slipped over the silky material, stroking her tits. Before she even moves her own hands away, her nipples are almost painfully hard.

Her head is spinning and she has to lie down, right absolutely then. As she moves back, he brings his lips to the other side of her neck and tries to find the matching spot. She pulls him down, and as he takes in the lovely negligee, and silky shorts, he feels a little oafish in his regular sleep clothes. But it’s not like he’ll be in them long, he hopes.

Her breath hitches and she can feel the flush heating her cheeks, neck and chest. She slides her leg under him and pulls her knees up on either side. Squeezing his ribs with them, she tries to get him to lay down, wanting to feel him solidly on top of her. It’s so weird, usually, all she wants is to be on top, controlling what happens to her body and when. But right now, she actually longs to be pinned down, wants him to have a power over her that she doesn’t give up easily.

He leans over and kisses the deepest point of the V on her top, right between her breasts, and she arches up into him. Oh god, he can’t keep doing this, he’s going to leave everything on her leg and ruin the whole night. He pulls back to catch his breath and the whimper that escapes from her makes him blush on top of his arousal.

He takes her in and looks at her face, into her eyes, staring unseeing past him into the middle distance. Damn, that is going to be a thing he will miss – and he remembers the best times with his wife, making eye contact with her as he entered her, that spark of intangible connection. Murphy pulls on his shoulders and he sinks downward as she sighs deeply. Putting his lips to her ear, he whispers, “I can’t believe you’re here,” and the grin on her face makes him feel even better.

Her heels slide up his calves and she pulls at him again, but as good as he feels, he’s not sure about putting his entire weight down on her, for several reasons. He shakes his head against her neck, gasping, “I can’t, I can’t,” as his hands continue to roam over her chest and ribs. His palms slide under the hem of her shirt and she leans up off the pillow slightly so he can remove it.

“Uhhh… you’re gonna have to at some point… that’s kind of how this works.” He runs his hands down over her ass and the back of her thighs.

“Except I’m a little too worked up,” he breathes out, heavily, “and if I do, I don’t think I’ll make it any farther.” He knows she can’t see him shaking his head, but he does it anyway. “I might need to call a time-out.”

“Mmm… that’s a foul,” she says, pouting and sliding her hands under his shirt, which makes him squirm a little. He’s big, sure, but he’s solid not flabby, and she loves the heat of his skin against her palms. He pulls his own shirt off, then lays down next to her, just far enough away to not be touching.

“I’m serious, I … am slightly worried.” He’s laughing nervously, and it strikes her that he’s kept him…self… away from her. He says he’s about to burst but she hasn’t even felt his cock. Her hand slides down lower and his breath draws in slowly and stops.

“Alright,” she says, “Well, no mocking me. I’m at a disadvantage here,” leaving him confused as her fingers lightly brush his head peeking out of the fly of his boxers. She clumsily begins to pull him through and he takes deep breaths, trying to think horrible thoughts.

“Nope, uh-uh,” he says, but she won’t be dissuaded, and he finally lifts his hips and strips off his shorts to spare himself the weird tightness of being pulled through the small opening. Her hand clamps down a little harder than she should and he gasps as she barrages him with apologies. Slowly, she brings her mouth to her hand and kisses his head.

“Make it all better?” she asks, and his only reply is a thin controlled stream of air escaping his lips. After a few tentative licks and very slowly being pulled into her mouth, his eyes are closed and his mouth is speechless. Her teeth are a little clumsy, and she’s gripping him a little too tightly, but the discomfort disappears inside the thought of it being her.

She’s really uncertain – she’s only done this a handful of times, and not for a long time. He’s big enough around that her mouth feels full, and he’s not uncomfortably long. Drool runs out the side of her mouth, but – the great equalizer – she doubts he’s assessing her for style points. His cock is warm, and throbbing, his balls are already tight against his body. She’ll just move back and forth a couple times…

His hands tighten in her hair, on her scalp, and his moan rumbles through his torso. She takes a deep breath through her nose and starts swallowing as he gushes into her mouth and thrusts back against her throat. As she tries to keep up, she thinks back to realize that she’d never _wanted_ to do this for someone before…it was always a matter of curiosity… or of being manipulated. That realization is really kind of hot. It makes her drink him down, moaning on her own, until he starts laughing like he’s being tickled.

“Stop…stopstop…ohhh, Murphy,” he tugs at her shoulders as she draws her head back slowly. “Oh my god Murphy, please,” and she feels up the length of him, climbing until she can drape her body along his side as he pants heavily. She tilts her mouth up toward him, and he kisses her gently. She turns it into a long, open-mouth, exploratory kiss and Dean gets a rare taste of himself, something he’s never much enjoyed. “Mmmm…no,” he says, turning away slightly.

“C’mon, Riley,” she says with a teasing tone, “Your tobacco and your milkshake might be vanilla, but there’s no reason that has to carry through everywhere.” His sputtering laugh makes his heart race a little and he takes her hand.

“Gotta give me a little time,” he says, “I’m an old widower dork, remember?” and she cackles at that and cuddles into his collarbone. “And you’re amazing,” he whispers afterwards.

“Shut up, sap,’ she says, burying her head even further into him. His hands keep running all over her body, and she’s so wet she’s aching, the throb inside her nearly painful. But she knows enough to know it’s over for tonight: he came, she lost, the end. Good thing they booked the whole weekend, they can try again, but for now she’ll just wait til he’s asleep and then take care of herself quietly. Surprisingly, his hands don’t stop. She feels them on her shoulders, waist, ribs, ass, breasts, thighs, everywhere.

He shifts slightly, his warmth departing from her side. His lips follow his hands, kissing her slowly and softly all over her body. He turns her gently when he can’t reach somewhere, and soon it feels like she’s floating weightless among his kisses. He even gets the arch of her foot and the round of her hip, and she was surprised he didn’t spend longer on her tits. Honestly, he’s surprised she hasn’t batted him away yet – according to Jess, Max got clocked in the dick just for saying something nice.

“Deannnnn…” Yup, here it comes. At least it’s not fist-first. “What are you doing, dork?”

By the time he parts her knees, she’s been slowly but steadily leaking, aroused but not immediately close. He plants a long kiss on her mons, right above her clit, and she whines unbecomingly. His tongue darts down quickly, making her gasp. “Turnabout’s fair play,” he quips before he slowly kisses her on her other lips.

She squirms a little and tries to deter him. “Uhm, yeah, you don’t have to … it’s fine… you won… we can just go to sleep…”

His head jerks up at that and he fixes her with a shocked, disbelieving look before remembering she can’t see it. Well, his face would probably just make that expression no matter what. Licking his finger, he keeps stroking her slit soft and slow even though she’s trying to put her knees together.

She hears him scoff. “Murph…that’s….” there’s a chuckle, “that’s not how this works.” He kisses the top of her knee. “At least, not with me, it doesn’t.” Her noises of general protest continue, so he takes in a breath and gets serious. “I will listen if you tell me you truly want me to stop. But if you think I’m giving up my chance to give you an orgasm just because I finished first, you’re dead wrong.”

The look on her face is sheer confusion and he shakes his head, fully aware and thankful that she can’t see it. What fucking losers she must be fucking. Her mind turns over the idea that there could be more, and it’s so different from what she’s used to; she’s entirely thrown off. She fucks because she’s horny… or lately, because the person sharing her bed is horny…but it’s almost always with her making sure she gets taken care of and assuming that once the dude cums, he’s fine. By that metric, this should be over, and she’d be left to get herself off.

Not hearing any actual direction to stop, he grasps her knees, easing them apart as he tenderly invades her with his mouth. He avoids her most sensitive areas, but tastes her thoroughly, backing off when she starts to clench, listening to the whimpers get more insistent.

His words rattle around in her head: he’s not giving up his chance? To _give_ her an orgasm? Like is that a thing? Guys have told her they want to hear her cum, or they want to be the one to get her off, but she always assumed that was a status thing. Or co-dependence. Not like, a present.

What did he say? It’s still fun to rip off the wrapping paper? The memory makes her smile even as his tongue is bringing her closer.

He’s been hard again for a little while, but wants to be sure she’s getting as good as she gave. When her noises seem more pained and urgent, he rolls on a condom quickly. “Murphy,” he says, “I would really, really, like to enter you now.” He takes a deep breath and she pulls her heels up on the bed quickly.

“If you don’t fuck me now, jackass,” she says, “you might never get the chance again.” His head drops with silent laughter, and he resists giving her the pounding she wants from him. It takes every ounce of mental strength he has.

It was actually nice to have felt his cock in her mouth before having him inside her – it gave her a little better idea of what to expect. But nothing could have prepared her for how incredibly slow he was pushing into her. He got more than an earful of expletives as her pussy clenched around him, urging him to pick up speed. When he finally bottomed out, an enormous shudder rolls through her body and she’s left panting.

He collapses onto her and she’s lifting her hips under him, crossing her ankles around his waist and trying to grind into him. He reaches back, unhooking her ankles, sucks on her earlobe and shushes her quietly. She’s surprised again how much she enjoys the pressure of him on top of her, but seriously, if she doesn’t cum soon, he’s getting kicked out of bed.

Feeling her hands against his sides makes him cringe. He wonders if she’s ever even had to settle for anyone as heavy as he is. He can imagine her saying something like, “Oh, damn, I didn’t realize you were _fat_ ,” and just getting out of bed. But it’s all in his mind and it doesn’t happen, her hands just caress him along his back and his ribs and he has to take it in for a moment. He reminds himself of the cheesy things she was saying the other morning after they talked all night, and it helps him carry on.

After a long second which felt even longer to her, he props himself up on his elbow and draws back, starting a slow pace that is nonetheless faster than he entered her. She tries her best to match him, digging her heels down.

But Dean leans over her, thrusting into her, adjusting angles and kissing and checking in, asking what feels good. It’s so weird. She feels herself get close, and then the idea that he cares about her, _is caring_ about her while they’re fucking … it gets to be too much and she can feel her body shutting down, even with him inside her.

She leans up and he leans back, she grabs his shoulder and pushes it toward the bed. He grabs her hips and obediently rolls over, putting her on top. In her favorite position, she places her body exactly where it should need to be to get her off nice and quick, but she can’t seem to get there.

His hands are on her hips, pulling her into him; his thumb grazes across her clit, trying to tease it out of her. Even on top, in control, she can still feel him caring, dammit. And she finally gets it: he actually does want her to finish as much as he wants to get off. The feeling is strangely similar to when they worked together to find the killer – they each had a thing the other needed and they both realized they couldn’t put it all together unless they were…together.

And that’s it, that’s the piece. Cooperation. She’s always thought of sex as something you did _with_ someone and never thought of it as something you did _together._ Suddenly she doesn’t just want him to get off, but she wants to give him what he wants, which includes her finishing, too. Her head is swimming … from the sex, from her thoughts, from actually imagining she can feel him caring about her in every touch. It’s still too much. It’s more than too much. A tear trails down the side of her nose as she realizes she’s not going to be able to give him everything tonight, and she actually gives a shit about it.

He sees her crying and slows himself down, checking in and she brushes it aside. “I don’t want to, if you’re upset,” he replies and starts to turn his hips to get her down. She pivots, though, bringing herself under him again and pulling him toward her.

“Don’t you dare,” she says in a voice that she worries might be too harsh. Works wonders on him, though, and he feels himself tightening for the second time that night. She feels him finally pick up the pace and the force and her mind empties at last. He squeezes her hand and whispers her name, and she nods, saying, “Me too.” But she’s not there. It’s not that she wants it to be over, but maybe the first time was _too_ special. She isn’t sure how to have this kind of sex.

She moans, loudly, as he cums, and clenches around him, bucking her hips faster. She keeps at it a little past his finish and finally slows, then he lays down overlapping her. His hand hadn’t let go of hers, and he keeps it there even as he uses the other one to brush her hair away from her face. He trails it through, then and leaves it there, tangled up, feeling how soft and long her hair is. He keeps fidgeting with it, and it feels nice to her, but it’s one more thing that’s different and a little unsettling.

“You gonna let that breath out?” he asks, letting go of her hand and pulling her closer in. She pulls the covers up, slides her leg over his, and tries to relax into his caresses over her shoulder and in her hair. Eventually, she exhales long and slow. His hands keep running over her body, and she feels good … really good… but stuck, not having finished but letting him think she had.

“That was amazing,” he says, and her reply agrees but sounds flat and hollow to anyone with ears – including both of them. He nods slowly, to himself but figuring she can feel it. She must not have gotten all the way there but she doesn’t want to tell him. Don’t need heightened detective skills for that – just more than a decade of marriage. It’s sweet, though, and a little out of character, her taking care of him in this way. Unless she just wanted it to be over because she couldn’t get off because he’s disgusting. Ugh, shut up, loser -- she’s fully capable of telling you why, you just have to use your actual words. Actually out loud. 

His hands keep stroking her lightly. It should be annoying, but maybe since she faked it she’s doing some penance. And maybe it kinda feels good. He presses a kiss into her hair on the top of her head and holds her closer. Christ, is he just trying all of her least favorite things?

But she doesn’t hate it.

His embrace turns into a giant bear hug, completely surrounding her. She tries not to panic, reminds herself it’s him and thinks back to her revelation from a just a few minutes ago. She’s still stiff, but begins to relax into it. “First times are weird, hunh?” he asks, almost tentatively.

“Not usually. At least not with me.” She shrugs dismissively.

“There’s a difference between a first time and an only time,” he says, “Only times have no consequences and no learning curves.” She nods, that makes sense, and he continues. “I’m hoping this is a first.” He kisses her lips gently. “Of many,” he murmurs against her mouth and she parts her lips slightly.

“I thought you said it was amazing,” she says, mocking just a little.

Matching her tone, he pulls back, probably to look at her? She doesn’t know, but he straightens his posture and seems fully awake and alert in high contrast to the cozy cocoon they had just been sharing. “Don’t get me wrong. You being here is amazing. You wanting to be … in a bed… with a guy like me… is amazing.” She gives him her best ORLY look and has no idea where it lands. “Being with you is amazing because it’s you.” He’s back closer now. “And I really, really, very much enjoyed the act of… being here with you.” He straightens back up, “But it was hardly my best showing.”

He falls very, very quiet. Ugh, this is the worst part of special-lesbian-style-sex: no fucking and falling asleep; you have to first have feelings and then talk about them.

But there’s no denying that she has feelings for Dean, and that they grew those feelings together, through time and experience and… cooperation. And he seems so unsure about something, she can at least try to make that part better. 

“I have complete confidence,” she tells him, bringing her hand to his face, “we will both get better over time.” She feels his cheeks pull back, and the dimple that exposes and she grins back. “Being here, with you… I thought it was amazing, too.”

He lets out a breath he’d been holding and scoops her into his arms, burying his face in the hair at the side of her neck. “I’ll make a sappy dork out of you yet,” he says, and the happiness in his voice overwhelms her brain to shutdown mode again.

“Ugh,” she says, curling into his stomach, “I hate us already.”

**Author's Note:**

> Partway into season two, I am hating what they did to Dean. Even in s1e13, it didn't feel right or believable -- they had spent so much time establishing him a (mostly) caring and good guy. And Murphy genuinely looked happy at the end of e12/beginning e13!
> 
> They both deserved better so I needed to give them the HEA in order to recover from the rug-pull.


End file.
